


making a terrible fuss

by clickingkeyboards



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Alexander has his first date with Hazel and he’s nervous, Best Friends, First Dates, Fluff and Crack, Gen, George being a little shit doesn’t help matters, Platonic Male/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: Alexander has his first official date with Hazel Wong and to say that he’s nervous is an understatement.With affectionate teasing, hair products, and discussions of inventive murder methods, George does what could be called ‘helping’ (by a very loose definition).
Relationships: Alexander Arcady & George Mukherjee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	making a terrible fuss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritesEveryBlueMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritesEveryBlueMoon/gifts).



“Ow— shit— ouch—”

Setting down his book, George opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it, angling his head in the direction of the bathroom and pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. It was difficult not to laugh at his best friend profusely swearing.

From the state of the room, it was clear what Alexander was panicking about. George’s ties had been rifled through and upended on the floor in a chaotic tangle, there was shoe polish dangerously close to staining the bedspread, and he only had to glance at the half-unpacked suitcase to know that Alexander owned exactly no pairs of matching socks.

When there was an almighty clatter from the bathroom, the telltale sound of someone stumbling and knocking several bottles off the counter, George gave in to his curiosity. He got up from his bed and crept down the hall, avoiding the floorboards that he knew creaked.

When he reached the door, he gave up on subtly and flung it open, and then spluttered with laughter so hard that he had to lean against the doorframe for support.

“Alex,” he asked in careful tones, looking wickedly amused and also just as confused as Alexander felt, “how on earth does one manage to create this much mess while shaving?”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, washing his hands and dragging a washcloth over his face. “At least I didn’t lacerate my face like you did when you started shaving.”

“I was thirteen,  _ I  _ have an excuse.” George pushed himself up on the counter and nudged Alexander’s hip with his foot. “Stop fussing, you look handsome. Hazel’s going to be swept off her feet if you don’t worry yourself into a nervous breakdown.”

Pretending to glare at him, Alexander cleared away the last of the veritable explosion of shaving foam and stepping back, regarding the collection of bottles on the left side of the sink with some trepidation. “So… what do all of your weird hair potions do?”

George barked a laugh. “Hair potions! Honestly, Alex. Your hair looks peculiar slicked-back, don’t do it. You’ll look just fine if you comb some Vitalis through it.”

“Right.” Alexander’s expression was utterly blank, and George tried not to laugh again. He knew that he wouldn’t appreciate Alexander laughing at him if he was going out with Lavinia, so he pressed his lips together and kept his trap shut as he scrambled through the bottles on the counter.

He came up with a clear bottle bearing a black cap and red label, and said. “Let me do it, you’ll somehow make a mess of this.”

“It’s  _ hair goop _ , George, it’s impossible to cock up.”

“You’d manage it,” George retorted. “Do you want to look presentable or not?”

Alexander acquiesced and sat down on the toilet seat, muttering something about how Hazel couldn’t even see the top of his head, why did it matter? Trying not to laugh and shake his hands, George started combing his best friend’s hair.

“This is extraordinarily difficult to do on somebody else,” he admitted. “Everything is back-to-front. Maybe if I use my left hand—”

“Do  _ not _ . I’ve seen you trying to do things with your left hand after you hurt the other one. I wouldn’t trust you to open a door with your left hand, nevermind putting chemicals on my head.”

Making an offended noise, George gathered himself and retorted, “Well… it’s not  _ chemicals _ . It’s just hair product.”

Keeping his head ducked down, Alexander groped for the bottle on the side and began reading from the label. “Alcohol Denat., PPG-40 Butyl Ether, Benzyl Benzoate, and Dihydro...abi...etyl Alcohol. You could  _ kill someone _ with this, George.”

“You probably could, actually.” Mulling over the idea for a moment, George said, “I concede, that’s a lot of chemicals. I wonder why that hasn’t been done in crime fiction yet, poisoning by hair tonic.”

“Because that makes a really terrible title?”

“True. It’s an interesting concept, though. Which of these many hair products has been mixed with poisonous gas that will release throughout your morning routine and slowly suffocate you in a closed bathroom? Hair product Russian roulette, cheery.” Taking the bottle from Alexander’s hands, George poured more of the tonic onto the comb and asked, “What are you chuckling at?”

“Nothing, I’ve just thought of one of those terrible pun titles you love so much.  _ Russian Toilette _ .”

George laughed suddenly and scolded through chuckles, “Do you want me to spill Dihydro-whatever on your head? It might bald you or something.”

“Please no,” Alexander said in a sarcastic deadpan voice. “I fear it might burn through my scalp in large quantities.”

“Let’s find out!”

Batting at George’s hands, Alexander shouted, “We can test the science  _ after _ my date! I like having hair!”

“And doing absolutely  _ nothing  _ with it! An awful waste of decent hair in my opinion,” George teased, running the comb through his hair.

“Having product in feels like wearing a helmet and I like fiddling with my hair. I prefer that to a shiny wax bowl.”

After a long pause, George realised that he couldn’t think of a decent retort and muttered, “Shut up.”

The next few seconds passed in silence, and then George said, “Done.”

Pulling a face that spoke of questionable trust levels when it came to George having control of his appearance, Alexander got to his feet and looked in the mirror. “Hey. I… don’t look that bad.”

“You look great, give yourself some more credit,” George said, shoving his arm. “Come on, you’ve got Hazel Wong to impress.”

“You’re extremely unhelpful, you know that?” Alexander replied, though the statement was rendered utterly useless by his grin. “Cheers, George.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, ducking his head to hide his smile. “You’ve got a date to go on and you’re cutting it fine. Remember to take an umbrella, it’s raining.”

Alexander was about to object that he wasn’t so forgetful, decided that he indeed was, and didn’t say a word. 


End file.
